Easily a fortunate pilgrim

12

At evening the silver complaint
Of the stars gives the sky texture
Winter weans itself off of cold hurt
And Spring begins to carry its weight
With her old songs through the weeks
Dying not in the fields, but spreading
Until everything sings her white face
A wedding of heaven and earth
Turning civilization into future valley
And frozen wastes into fluent flowers
Our species is not even old
But the gold sun never falters
And our memory is smoothly rippled
With Earth’s eyelids, sun breaks, coastal views
Under these arches of heaven we must
Make do, with the prosperity given to us.

4 thoughts on “Easily a fortunate pilgrim

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